The Moment
by Sela McGrane
Summary: For the first time in all of the years she'd known the Scottish woman, there was something on Hermione's mind that she didn't feel like she can talk to Minerva about. She hated the feeling, she hated what she was thinking, and she hated how utterly doomed she felt at the moment.


**Oneshot I cooked up... I have concluded I'm an idiot of epic proportions and that the only way to cope with falling in love with your best friend of fifteen years and just NOW realizing it... is to write more fanfic. You lucky bastards. :P**

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Fifteen years of friendship and on the brink of a tenth year as colleagues, Minerva McGonagall and Hermione Granger were well known to the other staff at Hogwarts to go for an evening walk as often as duty would allow. These walks had been a time for them to help each other process whatever was going on in their lives. When Minerva's husband of forty years had passed away, Hermione and held her as she cried under the setting sun. When Hermione had decided to divorce her husband, Ron, Minerva had consoled her as they sat under the Whomping Willow as the first stars began to light up the clear Scottish sky.

Hermione's children spent summers with their mother and the rest of the year with their father and step-mother, Lavender. It was agreed, however, that once Hugo started Hogwarts, a year after his sister Rose did, the arrangement would switch. Hermione would see them all year long at school, and they'd spend summers at their father's place in London. Of course, that was still another five years off, though Hermione often remarked at how, despite her problems with Ron, he'd been the perfect gentleman when it came to the custody arrangement for their children.

Minerva and Hermione's friendship had stood the test of time, and the fact that they were not peers did not appear to have any bearing on their ability to find equality between them. There was an honesty between them that Hermione had never known with another, and Minerva claimed she'd be hard pressed to think of someone she trusted more, especially now that her husband Edwin had passed on.

"Why haven't you started dating again?" Minerva asked Hermione as they walked along the deserted path toward the Black Lake. Term was to begin tomorrow, and Rose and Hugo had already been returned to their father, effective just this afternoon. It had been several weeks since they'd last managed time for a walk, and this particular topic had been on the older women's mind. "It's been three years since the divorce, after all," she added.

Hermione smiled at her. "As we've discussed before, Minerva, I settled for Ron. I'm not about to make the same mistake twice. If I were to marry again, it would have to be because I was truly in love."

"Well you're not going to find love here at Hogwarts," the other woman remarked. "And save for times you've taken Rose or Hugo somewhere, I don't think I've seen you leave the castle other than for Hogwarts related tasks since before you and Ron parted ways."

Hermione turned away, not wanting Minerva to see the pain in her eyes. For all the honesty between them, there was one thing the younger witch had been hiding from her friend for the better part of the last four years. Just one.

"What is it?" Minerva asked tenderly, obviously noting a shift in Hermione's mood despite her efforts to avoid that very thing. Such was the nature of their relationship - so close were they that the slightest hint of emotion was easily noticed.

"Nothing," Hermione murmured, looking back at her friend.

The _nothing_ , however, was actually quite a something. Hermione was in love, just as she'd always hoped she'd one day be. She was in love with her best friend. She was in love with Minerva.

For the first time in all of the years she'd known the Scottish woman, there was something on Hermione's mind that she didn't feel like she can talk to Minerva about. She hated the feeling, she hated what she was thinking, and she hated how utterly doomed she felt at the moment. She hated how she didn't see this coming, she hated realizing she'd made choices for a reason she hadn't known existed, and she hated how likely it is that no matter how she tried to hide it from Minerva, Minerva would figure it out eventually.

Hermione wondered if today was the day. If now was the moment. If right here and right now was when she was going to find the courage to tell Minerva how she felt. If she was about to risk the friendship which meant everything to her, for the hope of becoming _more_. She'd never known Minerva to become involved with another woman - in fact they'd discussed the notion of homosexual relationships many times over the years. Hermione's interest in the topic was fueled by her feelings, of course, and Minerva had been all too happy to debate the topic. Minerva was always up for a debate.

"We've never kept secrets, my dear," the older witch prodded gently. "Let's not start now. What's on your mind? You know you can tell me anything."

"I'm in love," Hermione whispered after a pause, still looking away.

"That's wonderful!" Minerva said, obviously excited for her.

Hermione turned back around and looked at her friend, relishing in the joy radiating out of Minerva's green eyes. She prayed it wouldn't be the last time. "With you," she added softly, meeting the older woman's gaze. "I'm in love with _you_. And the thought that you may walk away from me now scares me more than anything during the war ever did."

The smile on Minerva's face faded, and the color drained from her cheeks. Shock was obvious in her eyes, though Hermione was grateful that she could find no hint of disgust. "Please say something," she pleaded, hugging herself as the silence persisted.

"How… long?" Minerva finally choked out. "How long have you been keeping this from me?"

"Almost four years," Hermione admitted. "At first, it wasn't right to say anything because I was married to Ron and Edwin had only just passed away. After you buried him, I realized that the kind of comfort I wanted to provide you with was not the kind suited for mere friends. As the months and years have passed since then… well I suppose I spent too much of my courage on the war."

"Why now?"

"You asked," Hermione replied. "You've never asked me what was troubling me before, at least not since I realized what I felt. You've always just _known_."

For Minerva's part, she was feeling all manner of conflicted at the present. She had never been attracted to a woman before, and couldn't imagine why she might be now, at such a late stage of her life. She had grown children and grandchildren. Romance had been the last thing on her mind even after processing the grief that came with the loss of her husband. She was not a young woman any longer, and friendships, especially the very close one she shared with Hermione, had been enough.

Were anyone else on earth saying what Hermione had just said, professing to _love_ her, she'd have immediately and yet kindly turned them down. Female _or_ male. She simply had no place in her life at this point for romance or passion, and no patience to learn how to comfortably share living quarters with someone new. That said, this _was_ Hermione. She already knew they could live together with ease, as they'd done for nearly eighteen months as Hogwarts had been rebuilt and space at the castle had been limited. She already made time in her life for Hermione by way of their close friendship, and so while what they did together might change or be added to, it would not really alter the flow of what her life presently was.

Of course, there was attraction to consider still. She wasn't blind - Hermione was a very attractive woman by anyone's standards, though her being attractive didn't necessarily mean Minerva could be attracted _to_ her.

"Min, what's going on in that head of yours?" Hermione teased gently, reminding the older woman that they were still standing there, and the brunette was obviously waiting for some sort of assurance that her confession had not ruined the relationship they already had.

"Do you want to _be_ with me, Hermione?" Minerva asked, trying to get a better idea of where the resident Potions mistress was, thinking wise. Was she willing to fight for a chance of something more between them, or has she merely accepted her feelings with no real desire or hope to act on them. Was this Hermione's way of asking permission to show romantic interest, or was this little more than an act of coming clean about what she'd been hiding?

Hermione let out a resigned laugh. "I do. I hope you don't think me foolish for hoping it would be possible. We're already so close, love. We already care deeply for one another. We are already the one who comes first in our respective lives, outside of our respective children."

The younger woman took a step forward, and Minerva did not back away as their bodies gently touched they way that had a hundred times before as they stepped into a hundred different comforting hugs. "Hermione," Minerva murmured, as the brown-eyed woman leaned a little closer, touching one hand to the elder's waist, and the other against her cheek.

"The only thing that would change," Hermione whispered, leaning closer still, "is this."

That promise spoken under a beautiful setting sun, Hermione gently pressing her lips to Minerva's, and despite her uncertainty, Minerva found herself kissing her friend back. It didn't feel wrong, or awkward, or even forced. Rather, it felt _right_ , as if it had been a long time coming and she was only now realizing that Hermione meant more to her than she'd ever imagined.

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